


Out of Bounds

by breathewords



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Always a Little, Angst, But just a little, Friends to Lovers, He's Not Very Good, Investigative Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Jughead Plays Soccer, Minor Violence, One Shot, Slow Burn, Soccer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathewords/pseuds/breathewords
Summary: Jughead and Betty are editors at their college newspaper, where they became fast friends over the course of long nights at work. When they get a tip that could lead to the scoop of their lives, they can't just look the other way. Their investigation gets messy, and so does their relationship.





	Out of Bounds

**Author's Note:**

> If you can believe it, I started writing this one-shot for the "Bughead Investigates! — in Strange Places" collection over a year ago. Yes, I took my sweet time. I'm also submitting it for Theme 5 (Friends-Lovers) of Camp Riverdale 2019!
> 
> Prompt from Bughead Investigates: Softball/Football/Soccer League
> 
> I went with soccer since I'm a washed-up high school soccer player. I am also a washed-up college newspaper reporter/editor. So may I present: Bughead as student journalists investigating their school's club soccer team!
> 
> Huge thank you to the wonderful Cyd (@shrugheadjonesthethird) who's always there to listen to me ramble and beta on a deadline (even when I mess up the deadline). Love you lots, Cyd!

Betty Cooper twirls a lock of blonde hair around her index finger, sneaker-clad feet propped on a scratched, mahogany desk in a dimly-lit office.

It’s late Wednesday night — well, really early Thursday morning — and she’s (avoiding) doing final edits to the layout of her university’s newspaper when the office phone rings. She can’t remember the last time she heard that phone ring. Certainly not in the semester since she became editor-in-chief.

“You gonna get that?”

“That phone only rings in my nightmares, Jug,” she jokes across the desk she shares with her managing editor.

Coincidentally, he’s also her best friend in the world. They’ve only known each other for the three years they’ve been at college together, but they bonded quickly, each having roomed with one half of a couple that had sex way too frequently. When they started spending 40 hours a week running a newspaper together, they became pretty much inseparable. 

He throws a gummy from the bag of Welch’s fruit snacks on his desk at her head and she catches it in her mouth as she jogs into the newsroom to grab the phone.

“Hello,” she says unceremoniously.

“This is a place of business, Cooper!” Jughead yells through the open door of their office.

“It’s too early for business,” she grumbles back at him, hand over the receiver.

Then “I’ve got a tip for you,” comes through the line.

Having worked at the student paper for three years and manned several other tip lines at newspapers she’s interned for, Betty knows “tip” usually translates to “conspiracy theory,” but years of training have her grabbing for a used reporter’s notebook anyway.

“Yes?”

“Your investigative team is working on a series about jingle jangle, right?”

“Yeah,” Betty says, laughing a little. 

The “investigative team” is really just her and Jughead, and although they’ve managed to publish a couple of stories about the increase in drug-related deaths on campus — and throughout the city — they’ve sort of hit a dead end. The police claim to have told them everything they know, and you can only interview public health officials about a drug no one really knows anything about so many times.

“It’s not just being sold in the city… it’s being made here. On campus.”

Betty hesitates for a minute, trying to decide if her tipster is the real deal or not.

“You’re saying jingle jangle originated here?”

“Yeah.”

“With who? Do you know who’s producing it?”

There’s a long silence before the voice says, “You should look into the co-ed club soccer team.”

“As in they’re involved in some sort of drug ring?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Is there any chance you’d be willing to go on record with this? Or maybe you can just leave your name and number with me in case we have any follow up questions?”

The line goes dead. Betty slides the notebook into the back pocket of her jeans and heads back into her and Jughead’s office.

“Okay, give it one more look and then we’ll send it to the printers,” Jughead says. “Who was on the phone?”

“It was an anonymous tip.”

He laughs. When she doesn’t, he realizes she’s serious.

“About what, Betts?”

“Jingle jangle. Apparently, the mastermind behind the stuff goes to school here.”

“You’re shitting me. You think that could be true?”

“I have no idea, but I think it’s worth looking into. And we’ve got a lead. It’s someone on the co-ed club soccer team, at least according to our tipster.”

“Okay. I’m in. But we don’t know anyone on the team.”

“I guess we’ll just have to get to know them,” Betty says, eyes alert despite the time.

“No. Absolutely not. Betty, if you think we can just join the club soccer team…”

“Why not?”

“First of all, neither of us are good at soccer! Second of all, we literally have zero time. Third of all…”

“Oh, come on. The co-ed team isn’t that serious. It’s basically intramural.”

“Betty…”

“What’s third of all?”

“Playing a team sport would completely destroy my brooding loner vibe.”

Jughead breaks down and agrees almost as soon as the Welch’s run out, his image be damned. Without sugar, he’s useless at 4 a.m. and Betty was threatening to go ahead with the investigation on her own. He knew she’d do it, and while Jughead doesn’t have many friends, he’s protective over the few people who’ve earned a place in his life.

After Betty climbs into her Uber, he trudges the mile back to his apartment in step with the September sunrise, wondering if kicking a ball around with his childhood-friend-turned-college-roommate counts as soccer experience.

~

As it turns out, in addition to being a high school cheerleader, Betty also played soccer.

“Cooper, you’ve been holding out on me,” he says to her a few weeks later, way too early for them to be awake considering the time they left the office the previous night. Their editorial board had been particularly slow turning articles in and as always, they paid the price with yet another late night.

“I like to maintain an aura of mystery,” she jokes.

“That’s my thing.”

He kicks the ball back to her and it goes a little wide, but she manages to trap it quickly under her foot and arcs it high in the air back to him. He tries to bring it down with his thigh like Archie used to do, but it goes bouncing way further out in front of him than intended.

“You have to bring your leg down with it, Jug,” Betty calls.

She jogs over to him, scooping up the ball as she goes. He gets a little distracted by the way her ponytail bounces and the floral smell of her hair invades his senses as she stands next to him, dropping the ball on her thigh to show him how to trap it properly. Truthfully, he’s always been easily distracted by her hair, her smell, her words, her. But Jughead Jones is not the type of guy a girl like Betty Cooper would go out with. He’s not sure he’s the type of guy any girl would go out with. Based on experience, he’s the type of guy girls bring home to piss off their mothers. 

So he banishes romantic thoughts of her from his head for the millionth time in his three years of college, instead kicking the ball out from under her foot and jogging down field with it, albeit a little clumsily. Still, he’s improved since they first started hitting the field, daily practice sessions making him slightly more agile. He’s not as horrible as he anticipated. He’s never been very athletic, but he’s always been fast, at least, and he’s a quick learner. 

She chases him, right on his heels, but he’s faster and manages to tap the ball through the cones they’ve been using as goals just before she slide tackles him from behind, bringing them both to the ground.

“Foul!” he calls, rolling onto his back on the turf. “You’re not allowed to tackle me from behind!”

“Oh, now you’re a soccer expert?” Betty asks.

“I wouldn’t say expert, Coach Cooper, but smart enough to know when you’re breaking the rules.”

“I’m a rule breaker,” she says standing up, dusting the turf off her leggings and offering him a hand.

“Hardly,” he says as she pulls him up. “Is it time to eat yet?”

She concedes and they make the 15-minute walk from west to central campus for coffee and bagels. As per usual, the conveniently-located coffee shop is packed and there’s no space for them to do their homework.

“Wanna head to my place?” Jughead suggests.

He lives in an off-campus apartment with Archie, and although his room is significantly smaller than his roommate’s and there’s no air conditioning unit, his rent is cheap and the heater works when it needs to.

They’re sitting on the floor in front of his couch making flashcards for a test in their shared History of Journalism class when Betty grabs at her calf in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Jughead asks, already on his knees.

“Charlie horse,” she say through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” he says, leaning back on his haunches. “I can fix that.”

He takes her leg in his hand and starts massaging her calf with his thumbs.

“Ow, Juggie!”

She winces and wriggles for a few seconds, but soon he’s worked the pain out of her muscle and she settles back against the couch. She keeps her legs in his lap as they go back to methodically writing flashcards. He doesn’t have her mental stamina though, and gets immediately distracted by the feeling of her smooth thighs pressed against his where the fabric of his (Archie’s) athletic shorts has ridden up. He’s tapping an irregular beat on her kneecap when his red-headed roommate stumbles in, guitar in tow.

“Hey, guys,” Archie says. “You look comfortable.”

Color floods Betty’s cheeks and she removes her legs from his lap, sitting up and grabbing her laptop from the coffee table. In that moment, Jughead kind of hates Archie.

“How was soccer practice?” Archie asks.

“I think we’re ready for tryouts,” Betty says. “Oh! We have to sign up!”

“In that case, let me know when they are. I won’t believe Jughead is capable of any sort of coordination until I see it myself.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very coordinated,” Jughead says.

Archie throws a bottle of water his direction and Jughead misses it completely.

~

They both make the team thanks to Betty’s relentless coaching, but there’s no question that she’s the one who’s thriving.

The team captain, a guy named Chuck Clayton with muscles to rival Archie’s, takes a liking to Betty right away and she further endears herself to the team by bringing an array of healthy snacks to every practice. Jughead, on the other hand, is Betty’s weird friend who can’t even remember to bring a gatorade for himself, so he’s surprised when they’re both invited to the start-of-season party at Chuck’s house the night after their first game. He wants to say no. He wants to say that he’s exhausted between the paper and the soccer team and he hates extracurriculars and he’s just doing this all for Betty anyway, but he knows this is the opportunity they came for. An opportunity to search the captain’s house. So that night, sore from a game he only played one half in, he showers and pulls on his cleanest flannel before heading out to pick Betty up on the way to Chuck’s.

They don’t have a solid plan in place, but they figure it’ll be easy enough for one of them to slip into his room while he’s distracted. Worse comes to worst, if they get caught, they can just play drunk.

Chuck is easily distracted once Betty walks in wearing her short denim skirt and tight tank top, and he spends an hour at her shoulder as she forces Jughead into a few games of beer pong.

“Betty, c’mon, do a shot with me,” Chuck slurs for what Jughead deduces to be the millionth time, and Betty decides he’s drunk enough to say yes.

“Okay, Chuck,” she says, slinging her arm over his shoulder to turn him away from Jughead.

He takes that as his cue to start searching for Chuck’s bedroom. After a couple of false starts, he finds the room he determines to be Chuck’s based on his cleats in the corner and a few pictures scattered across dresser tops. He’s digging through drawers, careful not to rearrange anything too much, when he hears the door open behind him and Betty slips in.

“Nothing yet,” he says.

“Damn. I really took one for the team back there with Chuck. Can he be anymore obvious?”

Jughead snorts but says nothing, because he’s thinking that Betty has never really done anything to discourage Chuck from nipping at her heels like an overexcited puppy.

They search in silence for a few more minutes until Betty finds something that piques her interest.

“Oh my god,” she says.

“What? What is it? Jingle jangle? Cash? Scales?”

“No… it’s…” 

He stands behind her and looks down at the book open in her hands.

It’s got four columns. In the first column, the names of all the girls on the team. In the second, a list of various sex acts. In the third, the names of the guys on the team. In the fourth, numbers that seem to indicate a point system. At the bottom of the list is Betty, with “hot tub sex,” “5,” and “Chuck” written next to her name.

“This is disgusting,” she says, dropping the book on the dresser.

“Betty,” Jughead says, at a loss for words to express his concern for her shrouded under a layer of anger so thick it’d take a saw to cut through it.

“This is a story in and of itself!” 

It isn’t, not really, and they certainly can’t write it without giving up on their hopes of writing something bigger about jingle jangle, but he’s not about to tell her that. He doesn’t have to, because they’re interrupted by the sight of the door swinging open. The sound of annoying frat music grows louder in his ears, he smells Betty’s vanilla perfume as she takes a step closer to him, and then he’s filled with dread because he knows they’ll be busted if he doesn’t think fast, so he finds himself pressing her against the dresser as his lips meet hers.

All he can think after that is, oh, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, before Chuck is yelling, “Get a room! Another room!”

Betty sprints out of the house, Jughead close on her heels.

Outside, she doesn’t stop running.

“Betty!” he calls. “Betts!”

She slows and he catches up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and takes a deep breath of the crisp, fall air before beginning the apology he knows he owes her. He acted impulsively in his attempt to save their asses, counting on her to play along. She had, but he’s not sure if she really wanted to.

“Betty, I’m so sorry, I…” 

She cuts him off before he can finish.

“This whole thing was a stupid idea,” she says, and he can see tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll see you at work Sunday night. Lots of articles to edit for Monday.”

She leaves him standing in the street feeling like he’s on par with the rest of the guys on the team, keeping track of their sexual conquests without a thought to anyone’s feelings.

~

She doesn’t text him all day Saturday or Sunday. His weekend is filled with a whole lot of nothing without her. He doesn’t leave the apartment. He reads. He eats an ungodly amount of microwaved chicken nuggets. He lets the familiar feeling of self loathing take over and spirals quickly. 

He kissed her without asking. It doesn’t matter if he did it for the sake of the investigation. It doesn’t even matter that he definitely has feelings for her. She’ll think he was just taking what he wanted without asking. Maybe he was. He’s never been considerate. He’s never been able to care for anyone. God knows that’s why his mom and sister skipped town on him when he was 15.

Archie is strumming away at his guitar and even though his door is closed, every chord only serves to amplify Jughead’s pounding headache.

“Archie, can you stop playing that thing for two seconds!”

Five minutes later, Archie’s standing in front of him, clad in nothing but sweatpants, blocking Jughead’s view of the window he’s been starting out of.

“Where’s Betty?” Archie asks.

Jughead shrugs.

“You’re a shit roommate when you guys aren’t talking, bro.”

“Did Veronica tell you?”

“Veronica? What? No. She’s been with Betty though. I just assumed they were having a girl’s weekend or something. Did something happen?”

“No,” Jughead says, rolling over and burying his face in the couch cushion, effectively ending their conversation.

An hour later, he’s woken up by the dinging of his phone, her name lighting up the screen.

Betty Cooper: not feeling well. gonna edit from home. gave e-board the night off.

He’d ignore it, but he’d only feel like more of a douche if he left her on read.

Jughead Jones: feel better, Betts

He figures that’s a pretty safe text, but still feels like a piece of shit. Another hour passes and he’s not even finished editing one section. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots, and paces the apartment. He wants to go apologize, but he doesn’t know if she wants him to. He should ask if he can go over, but she’ll say no. He’ll have to see her sooner or later. She can’t ignore their editorial board forever. Or their soccer team, for that matter. His stomach rolls at that particular thought, and his phone goes off again.

This time, he’s surprised to see Veronica’s name staring up at him.

Veronica Lodge: come over and make up with Betty, for god’s sake. I know you’re just as miserable as she is.

He figures that’s as good of an invitation as he’s going to get and if she turns him away, he won’t put up a fight. He pulls on his sherpa jacket and makes a stop at her favorite coffee shop on the way to her apartment, buying a large chai latte with soy milk as a meager attempt at a peace offering and praying she’ll accept it.

Betty lives on campus with Veronica, Archie’s girlfriend, and their building comes complete with a security guard. He texts Veronica back, and she comes down to sign him in.

“Betty’s been pretty upset,” Veronica says in the elevator.

Jughead looks at her skeptically. There’s no way Betty didn’t spend the weekend cursing him out to Veronica, so why is she playing dumb? She’s usually fairly blunt.

“She’s pissed at me,” Jughead says. “She has every right to be.”

“I don’t think it’s you she’s mad at,” Veronica says.

The elevator door slides open before he can ask her what she means. He follows her into the apartment and lingers in the kitchen long enough for Veronica to notice.

“Do you need a map? The place isn’t that big,” Veronica says.

He rolls his eyes at her and drums up the courage to knock on Betty’s door.

“Veronica, I told you I’m not in the mood,” she mumbles. 

“It’s… uh… it’s Jughead. Can I come in?”

“Oh, Jug, uh… yeah.” 

He pushes open her door to find her running a brush through hopelessly tangled hair, sitting up against a mound of pillows piled at her headboard. He wants more than anything else to crawl under the comforter with her. To hold her in his arms and tell her how amazing and confident and brave and resilient he thinks she is. But he settles for taking a seat at her desk chair and attempting to fumble his way through an apology.

“Betty, I’m so sorry for how I treated you Friday night. I was totally out of line and I understand if you’re mad, but I…” 

“Mad?” she asks, effectively cutting him off. “Oh my god, you think I’m mad at you?”

His brain feels like it’s doing somersaults. He can interview scientists about black holes and medical technology and global warming, but two sentences into a conversation with Betty and he feels ill-equipped to understand anything. 

“Well, yeah,” he says.

“Juggie, I’m not mad. I’m embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? About what?”

“About finding my name in that stupid book, and about how I reacted to it. I thought… I thought Chuck liked me because I’m good at soccer and because I bring snacks for the team and because maybe he thought I was pretty. And I’m not into him, but I guess it just felt good thinking he was into me. Which he clearly wasn’t. And seeing not just my name there, but all the girls on the team, girls who deserve so much better, I just couldn’t stay there, Jug. It had nothing to do with you.”

“You’re not mad at me for kissing you?”

“Oh god, no. And I let you think I was. I knew that’s what you’d think. I should have… I don’t know… I should have explained myself sooner instead of spending the weekend wallowing. But I’m just feeling really shitty and confused and…”

“Confused? Confused about what?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. Just… the whole investigation idea. It seems like maybe a dead end.”

He sighs and moves from her desk chair to sit on the side of her bed. Before his ass hits the mattress, she’s scrambling up to sit next to him. He finds comfort in the feeling of her arm pressed to his and feels his body flood with relief when she rests her head on his shoulder. So she really isn’t mad after all.

“Listen, Betts, I understand if you wanna drop this whole thing. Say the word and we’ll quit the team and ditch the story and never see any of those douchebags ever again. Believe me when I say I’ve had enough turf burn to last a lifetime. But I also have to say that I think we could be onto something.”

Her eyes light up in a way that completely contradicts her earlier statement about the investigation being a lost cause.

“Why? Did you find something?”

“Well, not exactly, but when we were heading out I definitely noticed a group of guys who looked like they were fucked up on more than just tequila.”

“How could you tell?”

“Uh, I can’t explain it exactly. Just something I picked up as a kid, with the group of guys my dad used to run with.”

“Oh,” she says, but doesn’t push him any further.

After three years of friendship, Betty feels like she knows Jughead well. But she also knows that he’s a fairly private person, so even with her, the less pleasant details about his life before moving away for school usually come out like this — in unexplained one liners usually accompanied by a tug on his beanie or a hand scrubbed over the back of his neck. 

“So, yeah, looked to me like some of the guys on the team were definitely doing hard drugs.”

“Okay,” she says, taking a minute to process the information more fully. “What do we do now?”

“I guess just stick to the game plan? Keep playing soccer,” he says with disdain, “until we get invited to another party.”

~

Luckily for Jughead, they don’t have to wait long. They play nice, albeit cool, at practice and both manage to score invites to the next party. Betty because “I wanna see more of you in that little skirt, Cooper,” and Jughead because, “I guess you’re Betty’s plus one, god knows why.”

She cringes at Chuck’s comment and is sure to wear jeans that weekend. It’s late September anyway, but while the outfit works with the weather outside, it’s at least ten degrees hotter inside. 

Things progress in a relatively similar manner, with one significant difference. This time, when Chuck starts putting the moves on Betty, she flirts with Jughead. He’s sure it’s just in retaliation, but he’ll take it. She wraps her arms around his waist as they chat to members of the team and other houseguests. She jumps up and down, making sure to put her hands on his shoulders when he sinks the last ball in beer pong. And she kisses him on the cheek before volunteering to get him another cup of beer, leaving him alone with Chuck. Needless to say, he doesn’t make much headway.

Well, make that two significant differences, because Betty does. As it turns out, Chuck’s latest strategy was to show off in hopes of impressing Betty into “hot tub sex.” So he gets plastered again, but this time, he’s more desperate.

“I want to show you something,” he slurs in her ear when the party’s in full swing, leaving the stench of whiskey in the air around her.

“Show me what?” she asks, not uninterested, but not inviting either.

“Something impressive… downstairs.”

“Chuck,” Betty starts, rolling her eyes.

“No, really! I promise, it’s cool. You’ll wanna see this.”

“I don’t — ”

“— Might be a lead,” Jughead leans in to whisper. “You should go… if you’re okay with that. And text me if you need me.”

So Betty goes back to batting her eyes and playing coy with Chuck as he leads her through the house to the back stairs. That’s where she hits the jackpot. Because in the basement, encased in walls draped with American flags and yellowing posters, is a full-blown drug operation.

“What is this?” Betty asks.

“This is where the magic happens.”

“Nice,” Betty says, silently encouraging him to say more.

“Jingle jangle,” he clarifies, as she knew he would. “I help run the whole ring.”

He’s bragging, stupidly so, but she doesn’t stop him.

“The guy at the top, the Sugar Man, he’s got a bunch of college kids working for him. He pays us a shit ton, and I’m top dog on this campus.”

“Impressive,” Betty says.

She can’t help but roll her eyes and thanks god the basement is so dimly lit.

“So how about I show you my bedroom again? Bet you’ll have more fun with me than with Jones.”

“Aw,” she says, trying to maneuver herself out of the situation without pissing Chuck off too much. “I have an early start tomorrow, so I should go home. See you at practice!”

And with that, she’s up the stairs and out the door with Jughead in tow, Chuck still stumbling out of the basement.

She drags him half a mile outside party limits, practically sprinting the whole way, before she talks.

“He showed me,” she pants, trying to catch her breath.

“Showed you what?” Jughead asks, skeptical.

“There’s a bunch of guys in the basement making and packaging jingle jangle. I shit you not. It was like something out of a movie, Jug.”

“Oh my god, we got them!”

“We got them!” she shouts, then launches herself into his arms.

He hugs her tight, lifting her completely off the ground, and buries his face in her neck.

“Well, kind of,” he hears her say.

He puts her down.

“We don’t have any solid proof. Nothing we can report. Not yet. We need someone to go on the record, or we need to get photos somehow.”

“Buzzkill,” he jokes. 

“I know.”

“We’ll get there,” he promises.

She looks him dead in the eye, and even in the dark, he swears he sees the glint in her eye he sometimes spots when he catches her looking at him.

“I know,” she repeats.

~

They debate going to the sheriff about it, reporting a tip and letting the deputies investigate the place, but they decide against it.

Sheriff Keller’s son is on the soccer team, which means there’s every chance he’s in on the scheme, which means there’s also every chance of a cover up that could ruin their scoop. They’re not even sure the Sheriff’s department doesn’t know already. They could be complicit.

Thanksgiving break approaches rapidly and they still have no idea how to prove what they found.

Jughead grows more and more frustrated by the day. The holidays always make him grumpy, anyway. At least this year, Betty’s staying in the city. She says it’s not to keep him company. She says it’s because her parents are fighting and her sister is pregnant so they’re not making a big deal out of the holiday like they usually do, but he suspects she might be doing it out of pity for him. He doesn’t like her reasoning, but he’d never refuse her. So when she insists on coming over and cooking them dinner, he accepts the offer. He even allows himself to get excited. It’s a mistake.

The day before Thanksgiving, she calls him in tears.

“I can’t come over tomorrow,” she says.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Betty, what happened?” 

“My sister had a miscarriage. It was bad. She’s still in the hospital,” she says, then dissolves into tears.

“I’m coming over.”

He hangs up the phone and promptly sprints to her house in a record 10 minutes. She’s waiting at the door to sign him in. When they get to her room, she’s in his arms before she even closes the door.

“I’m so sorry, Betts.”

He feels her nod into his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shakes her head “no,” so he walks her gently to her bedroom and lays with her until she falls asleep. When she wakes, he’s waiting to hand her a mug of hot chocolate.

“Thanks, Juggie,” she whispers as she accepts it, cheeks creased adorably from her pillows.

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry again about Polly. No one should have to go through that.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “She’s really broken up about it. I just hope she’s okay.”

“It’s nice of you to go home and see her. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“What will you do?”

“What I always do. Buy pre-cut turkey and canned cranberry sauce from Star Market and watch Tarantino.” 

“Is that really what you always do?”

He shrugs. “My family doesn’t do Thanksgiving.”

“Your family doesn’t seem to do any holidays.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not that close.”

“Why?”

She knows he has a mom and sister who he hasn’t spoken to in years. She knows he has an alcoholic for a father who he still feels the need to check in on. But she doesn’t know much more. He doesn’t talk about it.

“You know why.”

“I guess.”

“Mom left when I was a teenager and even before then, we never really had the money for big celebrations. And after that, well, we hardly had any money at all. And it’s not like my dad was going to cook Thanksgiving dinner. He usually just got drunk, yelled at the TV, and I escaped to Archie’s house.”

“Why don’t you go home with him?”

“His family’s done enough for me.”

“Jug…”

“It’s okay, Betts. I’m happy with my holiday routine. Really.”

She doesn’t believe him, but she still has to leave. She lets him help her finish packing and bids him goodbye that night before going to sleep early so she won’t miss her train the next day.

He goes home to an empty apartment. An empty city, practically. Everyone is home for the holidays. Everyone except him.

He redoubles his efforts in figuring out how they’ll get someone on the team to confess on the record. That’s what he’s doing late one afternoon in the nearly-deserted coffee shop on campus when Trev Brown, one of the nicer members of the team, walks up to him.

“Hey, Jones,” Trev says.

“Trev, what’s up? Didn’t know you stayed on campus.”

“Yeah, a few of us who live far away decided it would just be easier to celebrate here. We’re actually chilling at the soccer house tonight, if you wanted to come by.”

“Sure,” Jughead says with some hesitation.

On any other day, he’d say no. Absolutely, unequivocally no. But it’s Thanksgiving weekend and he hasn’t spoken to another human in days now, so he may as well admit it: he’s lonely. A night of video games and beers doesn’t sound bad, even if it is with a bunch of douchebags. They’re not all as bad as Chuck, he reasons.

That night he tugs on his beanie and sherpa jacket and makes the short trek into frat city. Trev welcomes him with a beer and a slice of pizza and he joins the rest of the guys, not entirely regretting his decision. Chuck is cold to the point of meanness as usual, but Jughead would almost rather it stay that way. He has no interest in pretending to be friends with him. He can talk soccer well enough by now though, so he manages to hold a few conversations that don’t end with him hating himself. 

It’s getting late when Moose, another one of the guys who lives in the house, breaks out the colorful straws everyone associates with jingle jangle. For some reason, he’s not exactly sure why, Jughead’s eyes flick immediately to Trev. He’s obviously as uncomfortable as Jughead is. It’s written all over his face. Jughead actually things Trev is about to dismiss himself when he cuts him off.

“Wanna go outside for a cigarette first?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Trev says, looking relieved.

“I’m not usually a big smoker,” Jughead explains when they’re out on the back porch. He spots a few red solo cups littered across the lawn from the most recent party as he lights a cigarette. “Broke down yesterday and bought a pack, though.”

“I’m the same way,” Trev says, after taking a puff. “But I’d rather be doing this than that fucking jingle jangle. That stuff is seriously dangerous, dude. And they’re in here cooking it.”

Trev’s eyes get wide when he realizes he slipped up.

“It’s okay, man,” Jughead says to calm him down. He recognizes an opportunity here, and he’s not going to fuck it up. “I figured as much. I think by this point everyone pretty much knows where it’s coming from.”

That’s not entirely true, but he needs Trev to be as relaxed as possible before he broaches the subject any further. They’re lighting up a second cigarette in comfortable silence before he brings it up again.

“I can’t imagine living with that in my basement.”

That’s all Jughead has to say to open the floodgates. Trev starts ranting about how it’s dangerous and illegal and putting them all in a bad position. He’s on a scholarship, Jughead learns, and worries about losing it if they’re busted, even by association.

“I wish I could figure out a way to shut it all down,” Trev says, and Jughead seizes the opportunity to make his own suggestion.

“Why don’t you report an anonymous tip or something like that?” he asks.

“Nah, I don’t want anything to do with the cops,” Trev says. “Even anonymously.”

“What about the press?”

“What?”

“You know Betty and I run the Blue and Gold, right? We could report it.”

“And you wouldn’t use my name?”

“Not if you don’t want us to, no. And if the cops suspect you have anything to do with it, we’ll tell them you reported it to us. It’ll get you out of any charges, being on our side of things.”

“I don’t know. If Chuck and the rest of them get word I snitched, that could be even worse than criminal charges.”

“No one’s gonna know,” Jughead reassures him. “In fact, why don’t we do an on-the-record interview right now? We’re sober, and they’re inside getting high. We have another 20 minutes at least before they’ll even start to think about us again. Then we go back in and tell them we were out here chain smoking. Easy.”

Trev takes a long drag off the cigarette, then another, before finally agreeing.

Jughead questions him for 20 minutes, and Trev even lets him record their whole conversation on his phone. He’s practically giddy by the time they go back inside. He says goodbye soon after that, itching to call Betty. But it’s late and she’s with her family, so he resigns himself to the fact that he’ll have to wait to tell her tomorrow when she comes back. At least then he’ll get to do it in person.

He never gets the chance. 

~

The next day is Sunday, so he lets himself sleep half the day away. He finished all his assignments anyway, having had nothing else to do over the long weekend. When he wakes up he manages to get some writing done before making himself a late lunch, then kills a couple hours catching up with Archie when he gets back in. By the time he looks at the clock, it’s after five and the sun is starting to set. He shoots Betty a quick text telling her he hopes she got in safe, then throws on his jacket and heads over to her place.

The sky is bright orange when he goes outside, several different shades of it all swirling together. He loves this time of year in New England. The air is crisp and smells like falling leaves, it’s not hot but not cold enough for him to wish he had a real coat, and even the screeching of the train tracks sounds charming. Maybe he’s just in an abnormally good mood. He tells himself it’s not just because he’s seeing Betty; it’s because he has incredible news to tell her, too. He’s glancing down at his phone to see if she replied to his message when he hears a voice call his name from behind.

“Jones, Jones, Jones,” Chuck repeats when he turns around. “Have a good time hanging out with us last night? Was it fun pretending to have friends?” Several of the guys appear behind Chuck as he speaks.

“What’s this about?” Jughead asks, not entirely worried, but not at ease, either.

“I never liked you,” Chuck says. “But I think you know that.”

“Yeah, and what’s your point?”

“I want it to be known that I tried my best. I let you on my team, invited you into my home, and what do I get in return?”

“I don’t know, Chuck? What?” Jughead says as nonchalantly as he can. Chuck and his cronies are getting closer. Jughead slowly reaches into his jacket for the pocket knife he’s kept there since childhood. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to use it.

“I heard you ask Trev some… inappropriate questions last night.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jughead says. Trev must have broken down and told his teammates what happened. Is he really more afraid of them than law enforcement? Jughead wonders. 

He gets his answer when Moose sneaks up on him from behind and grabs him around the neck.

Chuck’s fist connects with his stomach, then his face as he doubles over when Moose releases him. Someone else lands another punch on his side before he’s able to click open the knife. Everyone steps away from him for a split second, but then Chuck pulls out a knife of his own. Jughead straightens up, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. He’s been in knife fights before. He was in a gang in high school. If he could just get Chuck to put down the weapon, he might have a shot of making it out of this alive. Should be easy enough; he’s negotiated with people much older and smarter than Chuck before.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s ditch the knives. We both put them down and I’ll fight all of you hand to hand.”

“Or I can just give you what you deserve. Leave you bleeding here on the street and take what’s mine. Betty doesn’t want you anyway, no matter how much you trail her like a lost dog.”

Jughead clenches his jaw so tightly he thinks it might break. It takes all his self-restraint to not lunge at Chuck right then and there. Maybe when he was 16 he would have, but now he’s not so easily manipulated. Chuck might be, though.

“You think she’ll want you if she finds out you brought a pack of other guys with you when you jumped me? If she thinks you couldn’t take me down without backup?”

He sees Chuck tense ever so slightly and knows he’s close to getting the only advantage he can; a semi-fair fight, or at least one without deadly weapons.

“That’s what I thought. So let’s put down the knives and I’ll take all of you at once.”

With that Chuck drops his weapon and lunges at Jughead, several other guys not far behind. Jughead throws his own knife, too, not entirely consciously. After a few hits, he wishes he’d held onto it. He knows he can’t get out of this, not when he’s surrounded. He had hoped he might catch some of them off guard by the fact that he actually knows how to throw a punch, but no such luck. He can taste blood, can see it streaming past his eye from an open gash on his forehead, when someone lands a well-placed kick on one of his ankles and he finally smacks the pavement face first.

He catches a glimpse of Chuck’s knife, of the other boy lunging for it despite their agreement, before he feels it slice into the skin of his bicep as he tries to stand up. His arm gives out and his forehead bangs the pavement with a loud crack. The last thing he sees before he blacks out is several pairs of sneakers sprinting out of sight. 

~

Betty’s phone rings just as she unlocks the door to her apartment. She figures it’s Jughead calling to tell her to sign him into the building, but when she goes to answer she doesn’t recognize the number on the screen. It’s their area code, though, so she picks it up.

“This is Betty Cooper,” she answers, thinking it might be a source calling back about one of her ongoing articles for the Blue and Gold.

“Hello Ms. Cooper. I’m calling because I have you listed as the emergency contact for Jughead Jones…”

Betty’s heart drops and her ears start to ring after that. She barely hears the nurse tell her Jughead’s unconscious in the ICU, just mumbles an affirmation that she’s on her way, throws her bags in her room, and calls and Uber that she prays shows up immediately. 

She bounces on her toes, unable to stand still, until the car pulls up to the curb a few minutes later. She’s usually a great passenger, pleasantly chatty without being annoying, but today she just sits in silence and barely thanks her driver before she’s sprinting into the hospital. 

Since she’s Jughead’s emergency contact, she has no problem getting an update on his condition. He was quickly moved from the ICU, the nurse tells her, and her panic ebbs just a little. She can see him. He’s going to be okay. 

She’s escorted to his room where she learns he has a concussion and a pretty serious knife wound. It’s a miracle he avoided internal bleeding, she’s told. It’s likely he was jumped, she’s told. None of it really registers. He’s out cold when she takes a seat beside his bed, but he’s going to wake up. He’s going to wake up. That’s the information she keeps playing on repeat through her head as she examines his face. He’s scraped up, but he’ll heal. Her eyes trail down to the bandage peeking out from his hospital gown, covering the skin on his bicep where he was knifed. Betty’s going to kill whoever did this to him. 

She puts revenge out of her mind long enough to send texts informing Archie and Veronica of her whereabouts. The former shows up 30 minutes later with takeout for dinner and a worried expression on his face.

“He was jumped, Archie,” she tells him as he takes a seat and starts devouring his pasta. She pushes her helping around the container with no intention of eating it, at least not at the same speed as Archie.

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“This is insane. I mean, who do you think would want to do this to him? 

“I have no idea. What about you? Anyone come to mind? You think it could have just been a random attack?”

Archie shakes his head.

“Me neither,” she says.

“He ran with… uh… a pretty tough crowd back in our hometown,” Archie says. “But I doubt it’s related to that. He cut ties with them for all I know.”

Betty hasn’t heard much about this “tough crowd,” but she can’t say she’s surprised. He’s alluded to it before, enough for her to know his high school crew wasn’t exactly the preppy type, but she still has a hard time believing any of them would attack him after years of no contact.

“We’ve been investigating the soccer team,” Betty blurts.

“What?”

“For a Blue and Gold article. We got a tip they’re the ones cooking jingle jangle on campus. We’ve been trying to get something out of them for months, and we got close before break. I’m afraid they found out and came after Jughead.”

“Shit,” Archie says.

They lapse into silence. Archie finishes his pasta. Betty bites her cuticles, then curls her nails into her palms to stop, then starts pacing the room to stop that. 

“He’ll be okay, Betty,” Archie says eventually. “He’s tough. Like really, genuinely tough.”

“I know,” she says. “Keep an eye on him for me? I’m gonna go run and get a cup of tea.”

“Sure thing. I’ll take a water if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

She heads down to the cafeteria, thoughts of Chuck Clayton and what he might be capable of running through her head. What if Jughead didn’t even see who did this to him? Or what if he did, and it was Chuck, and yet again they can’t prove anything? They have to go to the cops this time, she thinks. Maybe they can cut a deal for an interview in exchange for their good tip. At this point, the fact that the Sheriff’s department or someone else might be complicit is a risk they have to take. She won’t let Jughead get hurt again, especially not for a stupid news scoop. 

She’s so distracted she overflows the hot water in her styrofoam cup and burns her hand, but she imagines it’s nothing compared to the pain Jughead will be in when he wakes up. She toughs it out and heads back to his room, only half disappointed when she finds him still asleep. She wants to be there for him when he wakes up, wants him to know that she’s here for him no matter what. 

She’s his emergency contact. He’s not hers; she always puts down her mom’s information. For all of Alice Cooper’s faults, Betty doesn’t doubt she’d come running if Betty was ever in serious trouble. Jughead can’t say the same about his family, she supposes. 

“I’m gonna head out,” Archie says when she gets up to throw away her empty cup. “Want a ride?”

“I’m gonna stay a little longer, I think.”

“Sounds good. Text me if anything changes with him?”

“I will.”

He gives her a nod and then she’s left alone with Jughead, who’s breathing but still showing no other signs that he’ll wake up any time soon. She sighs and takes his hand in hers, trying to rub some life back into him. Her fingers are still laced with his when she falls asleep.

~

The first thing he registers when he comes to is that it’s dark. The second is that his body hurts just about everywhere, but his bicep in particular pulsing with pain. The third is that he’s holding someone’s hand. He sits up a little too fast and immediately feels like he’s going to throw up. He’s hit with a wave of dizziness so intense he feels like he might lose consciousness again and can’t stop the groan that escapes his lips. It’s not loud enough to alert a nurse, but it’s loud enough to wake Betty. She jerks upright in her chair and her blazing eyes immediately find his in the darkness.

“Jug,” she whispers. “Don’t try to sit up too fast, okay?”

“Too late,” he says, forcing a smile. She relaxes slightly, but her hands still grip the rails of his hospital bed so hard her knuckles are white. He thinks he sees tears welling in her eyes, but it’s too dark for him to be sure

“I didn’t know I was your emergency contact,” she chokes out.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d ever… you know… actually be emergency contacted.”

“It’s not funny,” she says, voice firm but still soft. “How are you joking right now?”

“Sardonic humor is my way of relating to the world.”

She loosens her grip on the metal and drops her head to it instead.

“How did this happen, Jug?” she mumbles to the floor.

“I wanted to wait to tell you in person,” he whispers. “I got Trev Brown to talk on the record the other day. Guess he went back on it, though, ‘cause Chuck and a bunch of the others jumped me when I was on my way to your place.”

“I knew it,” she says. “This has officially gone too far.”

She catches his head drop to his pillow and his eyes flutter shut as she speaks.

“You’re still in pain,” she says. “I’ll get a nurse.”

“Betty, I’m fine,” he grinds out. His head is spinning again.

“You have a concussion,” she tells him. “I’m not fucking around with that.”

By the time she comes back he’s almost asleep again, but the nurse makes him stay awake while she checks his vitals and adjusts his IV.

“You’ll be good to go in the morning,” she tells him. “For now, get some more sleep and press the call button if you need anyone.”

“You should go home,” he says when the nurse is out of earshot. “Don’t they have visiting hours or something?”

“I think they think I’m family,” she says. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t be comfortable curled up in that chair.”

She shrugs. “What else am I gonna do? I’m not leaving you, Jug.”

Her determination is clear on her face; he knows without a doubt she’s not leaving. He feels the pain meds kick in as they run through his veins from the IV, and everything goes a little softer around the edges. He’s almost lost to sleep again when he lifts his good arm and says, “Just come here.”

She doesn’t fight him. She slides in bed next to him — closer than they’ve ever been before, impossibly close, close enough for him to practically taste the scent of her perfume — and they’re both asleep in seconds. 

~

He’s released the next morning with instructions to get plenty of rest and an excuse to get out of class for at least the next few days. 

Betty’s loathe to let him out of her sight. Hell, she doesn’t even want to stand more than a few feet away from him. But what can she do? Hold his hand? Sure, she spent the night in bed with him, but it was purely platonic. He was basically sedated, and she had nowhere else to sleep. She was there as his friend. His best friend. She won’t mess that up.

She walks with him from the bus stop all the way to his front door, then lingers as he fishes for his key. Archie’s yanking open the door before he has the chance to find it. 

“Dude, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, pulling Jughead in for a tight hug. It’s not the one-armed, bro-type Betty’s used to seeing from them, so she knows Archie was more worried about Jughead than she thought. 

“Careful,” Jughead says, wincing. “Someone took a chunk of skin off my arm.”

“Sorry,” Archie says ushering Jughead — and Betty, thankfully for her — inside. “You look rough, man.”

Archie’s not wrong. In the light of day the cuts and bruises on Jughead’s face are more pronounced. He has a black eye and a split lip. And he looks more unnaturally pale than usual.

“You should lie down,” Betty says quickly. He doesn’t fight her on it. “Want something to eat?”

“I’d kill for a bacon, egg, and cheese,” he says.

“I’m on it,” Archie says eagerly. “Betty?”

“An iced coffee would be great, thanks.”

Archie grabs his keys and wallet and heads out the door, leaving Betty and Jughead alone. She doesn’t think she can stomach eating anything just yet, so she’s not sure how Jughead can. He could have been killed. Her hands start to shake and she closes her eyes and tries to resist the urge to sink her nails into the skin of her palms.

“Is everything okay?” Jughead asks.

“Okay?” she demands. “You were assaulted, Jughead!”

“Yeah, but I’m okay now,” he says. “Besides, I’ve seen worse.”

“I think it’s time we called this into the Sheriff, Jug.”

“Betty —”

“It’s a risk we’re going to have to take. We have to report your assault and we might as well report the jingle jangle lab while we’re at it. We need to tell the whole story if we want anyone to believe us. We can’t let Chuck get away with this.”

“He won’t, Betts, but why don’t we give it one more shot on our own?”

“Are you crazy!? He almost killed you!”

“No, he didn’t. He was trying to scare me. What’s the harm in confronting him one more time? He’s so arrogant, I bet we can get him to go on the record anonymously. We take photos and publish the story with everything but his name. He’ll see it as a weird ego boost, and the Blue and Gold goes on to win all the college newspaper awards in the area. It’s a win-win.” 

“How is that a win-win?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

His eyes bore into hers, and in them she sees all the reasons he’s her best friend. All the late nights they’ve spent editing, all the coffees he’s gotten her the mornings after, all the jokes they’ve teased each other with across their desks, and all the unconditional support he’s thrown her way over the years. But she’s still spooked by what happened to him.

“Come here,” he says.

He reaches up from his position on the couch and takes her hand, and she almost shudders at the physical contact as he pulls her down to sit in the little space he’s left her. She twists to look down at him again but doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Thank you for coming last night, and for staying. I know you must be so drained after everything I’m sure you had to deal with at home, and I’m sorry I surprised you with the fact you were my emergency contact. You’re just the person I trust most around here, and you know I’m not the world’s most popular —”

“Stop it. I’m glad they called me first. You’re my best friend, Jug, and I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “Just trust me.”

She sighs puts her free hand on his chest, almost subconsciously.

“Okay,” she says.

He’s silent for a beat — stunned by her agreement, she supposes — and then he reaches up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches in her throat as she drops her head a fraction of an inch closer to his. She thinks he might be about to kiss her again when Archie bursts back through the door.

“Breakfast is served!” he calls, dropping a tray of coffees and a bag of breakfast sandwiches on the kitchen table. 

Betty springs up from the couch on the pretense of getting Jughead his food, and Archie seems oblivious to the fact that seconds before she was basically on top of his roommate on the couch. 

~

Betty spends the next few days editing in overdrive to make sure the weekly paper still gets published while Jughead’s on bedrest. He’s tried to get her to let him help out, but she’s been adamant about him obeying doctor’s orders and avoiding screens. Thankfully, her editorial board steps up and they publish on time, Thursday morning, as per usual. 

That day she drags herself out of the office at 6 a.m., thanking her lucky stars once again she had the foresight to only sign up for afternoon classes on Thursdays. She wants to go by Jughead’s but she figures he’s still asleep. She should shower and get a few hours of sleep in herself, but she’s been too anxious to relax much. 

Today’s the day they’re supposed to confront Chuck one more time. Give him one more chance to go on the record with them, then end this thing one way or another. She’s been able to avoid him on campus, but it’s only made her more nervous to see him again. She doesn’t think he’ll try something again, not with her there, but she can’t say the same for herself. Her fury toward him has only grown over the course of the week. That stupid sex book was one thing. His attack on Jughead was another. 

After a shower, a power nap, and a cup of coffee, she feels a little more steady. She watches Netflix on her couch until her phone chimes with a text from Jughead, and then she basically sprints out the door.

“Hey,” he greets when she lets herself in through his unlocked door.

“Hey yourself,” she says. “You should really keep that thing locked, you know.”

“Archie will protect me if anyone tries to break in.”

“I’m sure he will, and that’s the point. It wouldn’t even be breaking.”

“Technicality,” he says.

She laughs. She’s been paying him daily visits while he rests — bringing him homework assignments, checking to make sure he’s changing his bandage, telling him the typical horror stories that come out of the newspaper office — and their friendship has gone back to normal... for the most part. There was that one time he put his arm around her while they were watching a movie. And the time she came back from class so exhausted she fell asleep with her head in his lap. And the night she spent in his bed… 

But trauma brings people closer together, and she suspects that’s what’s happening here. Her feelings haven’t changed, per-say. She just realized how important he is to her. How important they are to each other. 

She works on an essay while he half-heartedly flips through a textbook until it’s time for her to go to class. They agree to meet on campus and head to the soccer house as soon as she’s done at six. 

She can hardly pay attention in her philosophy lecture, just stares at the clock for two hours until her professor finally dismisses the class. She spots Jughead sitting on a bench waiting for her as soon as she steps outside.

“You’re punctual for a change,” she says.

“Haven’t had much else to do lately, Nurse Betty.”

“That’s right,” she says. 

They take up a slow pace heading toward the soccer house. They’ve already talked through what they’re going to say dozens of times, but they run through the general outline one more time, just to be safe. Jughead wanted to play it good cop bad cop, using Chuck’s… affection for Betty to convince him to see things their way. But seeing as neither of them were willing to play good cop, they scrapped that plan pretty soon. Betty’s glad for it. Sure, Chuck’s egotistical, but she thought it was a long shot that he’d actually agree to go on the record with them at this point, even anonymously. 

Before they know it, the house is in sight and Jughead’s heart rate spikes unexpectedly. When Betty looks up at him he can tell in her wide eyes that she’s nervous, too. So instead of focusing on the beating of his heart or the pounding in his head, he focuses on her.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. “We got this.”

They’re heading up the path to the porch when Chuck throws open the door and meets them halfway. 

“You’ve got bigger balls than I thought, Jones. You must if you’re showing your face here again. Did you bring our pretty Ms. Cooper here for backup?”

“You’re revolting, Chuck,” Betty says under her breath.

Jughead wants to take her hand, touch her wrist, lay a hand on the small of her back, anything to calm her down, but he knows it’s not the time. Chuck might pick up on it and find something else to give them shit for, and no matter how much more he’s found himself wanting to comfort her lately, he’s still not sure it’s his place. Instead, he settles for throwing her the subtlest of side-eyes and stepping forward to face Chuck again.

“You didn’t really think you and your pack of meatheads could kill this story by throwing a few punches, did you?”

Chuck looks Jughead up and down.

“A few punches? Is that what you’re telling Betty? Because I know how bad we messed you up, and from the looks of it you do, too. Right, buddy?”

Chuck reaches out and claps Jughead on the arm, right where he knows Jughead still has an open wound. He can’t help but flinch. He’s surprised he doesn’t vomit on the spot from the pain. Thankfully, Betty steps in and plays her part flawlessly.

“I’m not sure what you’re playing at, Chuck, but you’re deluded if you think we’re not gonna run this article and expose you guys just because you put a hit on Jughead.”

She doesn’t crack, doesn’t show a hint of the skepticism she expressed to Jughead about going forward with the story.

Chuck falters for a split second and Betty can see the fear flash in his eyes. She takes a brave step toward him, certain he won’t touch her.

“You can’t,” he says. “You can’t prove shit.”

She takes another step, closer than arm’s length, so close she has to tilt her head up to look him in the eye.

“We have an on-the-record confession, remember?”

“Trev will say you made the interview up the second you hit publish, I promise you that.”

“We got him on our side once. Who’s to say we can’t do it again? Plus, I vividly remember you showing me the whole goddamn lab last month.”

She’s playing with him now, biding her time while Jughead upholds his part of the plan.

When she feels his hand on her shoulder she knows it’s only a matter of minutes before this is all over.

“Why don’t you get out of here, Jones? Betty doesn’t need backup.”

“What is it with you and backup? I’m not her backup,” he says evenly. “Like you said, she’s mine.”

“She’s not your anything. Seriously, Cooper, why do you hang out with this guy? Just because of the damn school paper? You know journalism is a dying industry, right? A few days with me and I’ll show you something much more… lucrative.”

She doesn’t know what he means, exactly. Drug dealing? Is he still trying to get her to sleep with him? Even he can’t be that stupid. It doesn’t matter. She’s officially lost her temper.

“I’d rather spend a few days in the fiery pits of hell than in your company, Chuck. You’re a scumbag, and if you seriously think you’re superior to Jughead in any way than you might have hit one too many headers and knocked something loose in that underworked brain of yours.”

“For real? You walk around my house in those tiny ass skirts, join my team and try to get all cosy with everyone, and then you say you’re not into me? You’re either crazy or just a huge fucking bitch.”

The next thing Betty knows she’s stumbling slightly to the side and Chuck is on the ground. She hears sirens in the distance, sees Jughead kneeling over Chuck with his fist cocked. He must have pushed her out of the way to throw the punch. That wasn’t part of the plan.

“Jug, get off him!” she warns. “The cops are here.”

She pulls Jughead away from Chuck just as the police cruisers round the corner. Chuck hops up, blood dripping from a cut left by Jughead’s knuckles on his cheekbone, and sprints into the house. Betty and Jughead stand aside on the curb by the front lawn and watch as law enforcement breaks down the door. Jughead timed his tip perfectly, calling to say he felt he was in danger for snitching and couldn’t leave the property, ensuring police showed up right away.

They needed to be there when the cops made the bust, for their own safety as much as for the story. They needed to make sure nothing shady went down, that Chuck or any one of the guys on the team didn’t cut a deal. And they knew watching the arrests in person was the only way to truly confirm the facts, to report the story the right way. 

Since they made the call, since they watched the cops raid the soccer house, no one can withhold records or refuse to comment. In fact, after Chuck and his housemates are shoved into cop cars and police start taping off the house for their (hopefully quick) investigation, they manage to find the precinct’s captain, who gives them his business card for an interview as thanks for the tip. 

Everything went off without a hitch. They should have done this sooner, Betty thinks, but instead they chose to drag their investigation on. Why? They’re dedicated to getting the facts right, sure, but if Betty’s being honest with herself, she hasn’t hated the fact that this story has only brought her and Jughead closer.

Him slugging Chuck was never part of the plan, though. At least as far as Betty knew.

“Why’d you do that?” she asks as the last of the cop cars drive away and they make their way back toward campus.

“Do what?”

“Seriously? Why’d you punch Chuck when you knew the cops would be pulling up any second? You could have gotten in trouble, too.”

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with talking to you like that.”

“Jughead, he literally jumped you less than a week ago and you told me it wasn’t a big deal. A little name calling isn’t going to kill me.”

“He can do whatever he wants to me,” Jughead says. “But I can’t hear him talk to you like that.”

“Why?”

She grabs his hand, forcing him to stop walking and look her in the eye.

“Why, Jughead?” she repeats. 

Then he’s kissing her right there on the street, the sound of sirens still fading in the distance. She doesn’t have to think twice about leaning into it, rising up on her toes and anchoring her hands in his hair. She feels like she’s radiating something, anything — happiness, positivity, sumblimination — for the first time in a long time. So she deepens the kiss with her tongue and he presses his fingers into her lower back, pulling her closer as the sun starts to set and the last of the autumn leaves fall from the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! There might be more to this story one day, but I'm noncommittal so don't hold me to it. Kudos/comments/positive vibes always appreciated :)


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